


Sherwood Florist

by y3llowdaisi3s



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Funny, Humor, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24916411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/y3llowdaisi3s/pseuds/y3llowdaisi3s
Summary: Draco is turning 23 soon, and all of a sudden his mother has him running these weird errands for random dates. One of the errands is to get a bouquet for the girl. So he goes to the best flower shop in Diagon Alley, which just so happens to be owned by Hermione Granger.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 51
Kudos: 276





	1. Hydrangeas and Lobelias

**Author's Note:**

> This was written back in 2012 and is complete, but I'm actually editing it a little as I post since this was one of my earlier works and wow was I not very good back then. 
> 
> I'll post the next chapter on Sunday, and will post a new chapter every Sunday thereafter.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**DMHG**

Hermione thought today was going to be a normal day. She had woken up at 5.30 and had a cuppa on the balcony above her shop, greeting the sun as it came up in the sky. Was ready to go by 6. For the next hour, she shopped for fresh flowers at the Columbia Road Flower Market. By 7, she had stopped by The Leaky Cauldron to trade the papers she graded the day before for new magical flowers with Neville.

All in all, the morning was busy, but normal.

When she was returning to her shop via Diagon Alley at half past, the day veered to the not so normal.

Waiting on the steps of Sherwood Florist was a very good looking man, Hermione suddenly stopping to admire him. He was tall, blond, a swimmer’s body. Yummy, and all its other connotations, were the only words floating around her head. She decided that the normal morning was getting better and trotted forward to open the shop.

When he slowly turned upon hearing her footsteps, she realised he was not only good-looking, but also ferret-y. Her mouth dropped as she realised she had just thought Draco Malfoy was yummy. The ferret was yummy. She did not like ferrets nor did she eat ferrets; he was _not_ supposed to be yummy. Her last thought before officially hating her once-normal day was, “Why is Draco Malfoy at her shop?”

**DMHG**

Draco’s day had been everything but normal. He was awoken by his mother just after dawn. Typically, he would have stayed in bed until at least ten in the morning, but today, he was up and getting ready just after six. There was no cup of tea waiting on his desk after his morning ablutions. There were no scones at the breakfast table for him to munch on. There wasn’t even a place setting at his usual seat.

What was waiting for him in the breakfast room was his evil mother, with strict instructions that he needed to ensure that everything was ready for an important date tonight. There was a heavy emphasis on the _important_ , he could tell by her voice and the look she gave. The _importance_ was emphasised in such a way that he knew if he messed things up, his mother would find a way to make his life miserable, even more so than she had that morning. It was **_important!_**

He rolled his eyes in remembrance of the whole conversation. He was sent out with a list of errands: make reservations at Bon Appetit, have himself fitted for new dress robes at Madam Malkin’s, pick up wine, get flowers, stop by Gringotts.

He was finally at the second-to-last item of his list, and was ready to crawl back into bed once he had completed everything. But his bed was getting further and further away because Sherwood’s Florist wasn’t opened yet. Weren’t florists supposed to be open early? To ensure they had the freshest flowers? Why wasn't the shop open yet?

His bed was calling him, and the longer he waited on the steps of the shop, the louder its call was. It was begging for his return, and everything in him wanted to ease its torture. However, his mind kept repeating his mother’s words from that morning, and he kept seeing her face. The date was _**important**_ , emphasis on the importance, his brain would repeat. It was the mantra of the morning. The mantra was slowly taking over the bed’s begging.

He wasn’t in the most pleasant of moods, needless to say.

He was just about to leave for Gringotts and try the flower shop again afterwards when he heard heavy footsteps approaching. He turned to their direction and found Hermione Granger eyeing him up, and then scowling once she realised who he was.

Great. His morning went from bad to horrible.

**DMHG**

Hermione opened the door to the shop, trying to ignore the irate man who barely took a step out of the way to let her through. She casted the charms needed to turn on the lights, put her new purchases away, and walked around the counter to mind the till.

Draco followed her into the store and eyed some of the purple flowers flying across the room to their display case, thinking they would do for whatever the important date his mother had planned that evening, emphasis on the importance (It was _**important!**_ ). Ugh, the mantra was causing a headache.

When Hermione finally gave him a passing glance, he scoffed, “So you work the till at a flower shop?”

She visibly cringed. She hated the tone in his voice. The tone that said “I expected something better out of you.” She owned the flower shop, thank you very much. So what if she would have preferred to own a bookshop, but Flourish & Blotts was likely to close never. She was a practical girl, and she knew that there was no flower shops on Diagon Alley, and it was an untapped market. She was bloody smart, again thank you very much, and found herself with quite the business after only a few short years. The tone meant nothing to her, nope, it meant absolutely nothing. Her own mantra didn’t cause the cringe to go away fast enough, though.

Draco was happy to see a reaction out of her so early in the conversation. Generally, it would have taken a few barbs at her friends and house affiliation before she became really red. It made his horrible morning a little more bearable.

“I need a simple bouquet. Those purple flowers that I saw you put away, those should do,” he said while looking down at his stretched fingers, clean nail beds, in a very bored manner. He was rather bored, actually. He really wanted to get back to bed. He could still hear it’s pleas under the heavy scowl, if scowls could make sound that is, coming from Granger.

Hermione, whose morning started out normal and swiftly stumbled into awful, wanted to get rid of him immediately. Killing him wasn’t an option, she had just finally paid off the mortgage on the shop; she’d like to enjoy not having that expense. Getting him out of the shop right away was a good will not send you to Azkaban goal.

She cast Accio on the flowers she had just put away, Hydrangeas and Lobelias, made a decent arrangement out of them, casted an everlast spell, handed them to him, and pointed to the door, all in the span of three minutes. She wanted him gone, she could do things quickly with enough incentive.

He was in shock. If it wasn’t Granger, he’d have complimented her on the quick delivery, and then quickly complained about about her customer service skills. Who gave up the goods without giving a price and directed the customer to the exit like that? His bed was calling, however, so he simply dropped a galleon, and made note to complain to the shop owner in the future.

He hoped, really hoped, he would never need to come back again.

She hoped, really hoped, she would never have to see him again.

And just like that, their day continued as planned.

**DMHG**

Draco went to Gringotts and promptly returned home to go to bed and proceed with the important date, emphasis on the important (It was _**important!**_ )

Hermione continued to mind her shop, did the books, completed the crossword in _The Daily Prophet_ in record time and took longer with _The Quibbler_ , which was much more difficult since half the answers weren’t real.


	2. Snapdragons and Hollyhocks

**DMHG**

Hermione’s day was mostly normal. She had to deviate a little as there was a light drizzle and the balcony was wet. She accommodated the weather by enjoying her cup of tea inside, watching the sun come up. The humidity was also causing a bad hair day, so getting ready took a little longer as well. She didn’t make it to the Flower Market until a quarter after six. She also didn’t need to trade any graded papers for magical flowers that morning, but she was still stopped by Neville while walking through The Leaky Cauldron on her way back to the shop.

“Hermione, I’ll have some monkshood ready next week, if you’d like.”

Hermione thought of the beautiful purple flower and what she could do with it. She knew the Apothecary down the road would be happy to purchase some of it off her. She thought for a moment, head tilted, eyes upward, lip between her teeth, and did some mental calculations. She did catch a brief glimpse of the crossword in The Quibbler that morning and most of the clues inferred answers that were fairly real, she’d have some time on her hands.

“Okay, fair trade. What year am I grading for you this time?”

Neville, beaming smile on his face, quickly handed her a stack of parchments, “Fourth years, properties of bubotuber pus.”

Hermione grinned at the memory of her fourth year learning the same material. She eyed the large stack of parchments and shrugged. “Sounds good. I’ll have these done in the next few days in time for the monkshood.”

Neville simply nodded and allowed Hermione to be on her way. Yes, it was mostly a normal day and she made it back to her shop without any annoyingly good looking ferrets on the way.

It wasn’t until just after lunch, when she had just started to grade the assignments, when the somewhat normal day took a turn to the strange, and not _The Quibbler_ kind of strange.

**DMHG**

Draco’s day started off normally, and he was very glad for it. He woke up a quarter past ten. Did his morning ablutions and found a cuppa on his desk waiting for him. He enjoyed his tea while debating on his plans for the day. Once he was ready, he headed to the breakfast room and found a smiling mother sitting across from his normal seat, a tray of scones between them.

Yes, the day was normal, and Draco couldn’t be happier. The important date, emphasis on **_important_** , the night before went off without a hitch. Astoria Greengrass was quite happy with the food at Bon Appetit, how dapper he looked in his new dress robes, and him paying for the whole meal with a small velvet coin-purse filled with galleons. Her mother was pleased with his wine choice, and the only thing that wasn’t commented on were the flowers. He figured four out of five was a winning situation and ignored the slight.

His normal day, though, would have preferred that he had not ignored it.

When a screeching owl followed their normal eagle owl through the French doors with the morning post, he should have realised his day was not going to be normal, even if he had enough sleep.

The annoying owl dropped a letter, beautiful script visible, in front of his mother. That should have been a sign for him to finish his breakfast quickly and get out of there as fast as Peeves ran away from the Bloody Baron.

He was just taking a sip of some tea when his mother screeched, louder than the bloody owl did, “DRACO!”

Needless to say, his mother’s ire rose when she found herself drenched in tea, on top of whatever the letter contained.

It wasn’t his fault that she happened to scream bloody murder when he was just taking a sip of his tea. It wasn’t his fault that she scared the living daylights out of him and the only thing he could do was spew what was in his mouth.

Yeah, Draco should have pulled a Peeves. His mother did appear more frightening than the Bloody Baron.

He quickly said, while spelling the evil tea away, “I’m sorry mother.”

“You ought to be!” She replied, voice only slightly elevated.

He rolled his eyes, “It’s just tea, mum. It’s gone.”

She shrieked at the indignity of it all. “I don’t care about the tea! You gave Astoria a bouquet made of hydrangeas and lobelias! I thought I stressed the importance of this date, and you’ve absolutely ruined it!”

She continued to stress on the importance, and how the flowers messed up everything. Draco just tuned her out and thought about how the flowers looked pretty, he didn’t see why it was such a big deal. Girls liked pretty things, he remembered the younger Greengrass girl would wear purple on occasion. She should be happy he even recalled that fact.

“Draco Abraxas Malfoy,” his mother said, pulling him back into the conversation, “you better have heard everything I’ve just said.”

He nods, and when she quirked her eyebrow at him, he says, “The date was very important for my future and the flowers were not well received.”

“Exactly! Now I will have to spend the rest of the day trying to find another candidate. You will have to do everything from yesterday all over again,” she explained. “And you better not mess it up again, Draco.”

The look on her face would have made Lord Voldemort shiver. Draco knew not to question his mother, especially with that face.

He quickly left to do the same errands he had ran the day before.

**DMHG**

“Why are you here?” Hermione said through clenched teeth, eyebrows furrowed, eyes glaring. If she were a krup, she’d be ready to attack.

Draco, realising the very potential danger to his person, quickly thought about leaving the store, and forgetting about the flowers. But then, he realised that if Hermione was a krup, his mother was a nundu, and he’d much rather face the krup. People survived krup attacks. He never heard someone making it out of a nundu attack and surviving. He was a Slytherin, self-preservation and all that rot. Granger had nothing on his mother, and he would not jeopardised his survival streak of twenty-two years with Narcissa Malfoy.

He steeled his shoulders and scowled back. “For some reason, the flowers you gave me yesterday didn’t go over so well. Give me something else.”

Hermione knew that those old Pureblood snobs would understand the meaning behind the flowers, and she hid her snicker behind her hand. She fake yawned and rolled her eyes, “I gave you the flowers that you asked for.”

Draco wanted to ignore that fact. He liked it better when he could blame others, and blaming Granger was so much better than blaming himself. “Maybe you’re right, but I need a bouquet for tonight, so give me something else.”

The hairs on Hermione’s neck bristled. The cad, saying that she wasn’t right when it was very clear that she was. She was about to argue the point when she realised that the quicker she gave him what he wanted, the quicker he would leave. She cooled her features, and gave him her best fake smile, “All right, what do you need the bouquet for?”

“That’s none of your business,” He spat out.

Hermione rolled her eyes, again. “I need to know in order to give you the best bouquet. Do you want me to give you something that would make you come here again tomorrow?” She sneered, “I know I would prefer _not_ to see you.”

Draco blushed a little. Only a little. However, as he was so pale, the little blush was more bright red. Almost as if he had just walked into a blizzard, “I have an important date, emphasis on the important, and I need to impress them.”

Hermione laughed. This was good. He made her give him a bouquet that any society woman would interpret as frigid and malevolence. She could hardly breath. Leave it to Draco Malfoy to mess something like that up. She wondered who was the lucky recipient of that message. Did Malfoy know what the flowers meant? Would he notice if she did something like that again?

When she realised she was spending a little too much time pondering Malfoy’s love life, she calmed down and started to think about the new bouquet. She glanced around her shop and an idea came to mind. She giggled as she walked around the shop pulling some multi-colored snapdragons and hollyhocks. She wished she could see the face of the Pureblood bitch who would be getting these.

As she walked back to the counter, she saw that he was smartly dressed and the tight fitting clothes did wonderful things to his body. She shook her head and she quickly spelled the flowers into a beautiful bouquet and handed them to Malfoy. For added measure, she grabbed a buttercup from the bucket by the till and put it in his shirt pocket. Maybe it would do him some good, who knew. People once thought buttercups could cure lunacy, and Malfoy sure could use all the help he could get.

Just like the day before, Draco watched her create a beautiful multi-colored bouquet from across the room. He was in awe of her quick use of magic. Did they even have spells like this when they were in school? Where did she learn them? Did she create them? When he felt a pressure on his chest and looked down to find a flower, he scowled. He dropped some galleons on the counter, making sure some would fall onto the ground and quickly left.

So what if she was good at magic, the woman was still infuriating.

Hermione frowned, he may be a fit bloke, but the man was an arse.


	3. The Bouquet of Doom - aka Carnations

**DMHG**

Hermione woke up the next morning to the pitter-patter of raindrops falling on her window. Her nose was stuffy and she had the urge to sneeze. The room was chilly, and she snuggled into the warmth of her bed, hiding under the blankets. She stuck her hand out of the shelter she had created, accidentally slapping the nightstand, knocking over a vase, until she found her wand. She quickly casted a spell to mark the store below as closed for the day; she was going to spend the day resting.

She was going to go back to sleep and enjoy the soothing sounds of the rain.

**DMHG**

Draco woke up that morning to his mother’s shrieking, which was louder than the thunder going off outside. He casted a spell to tell the time, and saw that it was only half past nine. He groaned, burrowed into his blankets and hid his head under his pillow. He tried to lock his door with his wand, but he was too late.

The door slammed open, bouncing off the wall and swinging on its hinges. Draco cringed at the sound and pretended to snore, hoping his mother would leave him be.

“I know you’re awake. There is no way you could sleep through that, let alone the weather outside.”

He groaned again, louder this time, and threw a pillow over his head. “What now?” he grumbled.

“I swear to Merlin there must be something wrong with you! How did you manage to mess up? Again? Did I not stress the importance of these dates? First you mess up with the Greengrass family, which quickly knocks two suitors off the list, and now the Davises. If you continue down this route,” Narcissa shuddered, “it’ll be Millicent Bulstrode for you.”

Draco darted out of bed, eyes wide, and mouth moving as if to speak, but no words were forthcoming. He wasn’t sure what his mother was talking about, but he clearly missed something. Was there a specific reason he was going on all these dates? More than just keeping his mother’s social circle happy? When he could finally gather his thoughts, he asked, “What are you talking about mother?”

“Your future wife,” she sighed, as she sat at the edge of his bed. “You are courting your future wife, and you keep burning bridges. Honestly Draco, I’m not sure why you insist on ruining these chances.”

Draco rolled his eyes at his mother. He was only twenty-two for Merlin’s sake. Why would he want to get married now? And Astoria was a bore, he couldn’t believe that the whole evening was spent trying to woo her. And the date the night before… Draco felt like cringing at the thought of it. Tracey Davis was as interesting as a flobberworm - Which was nil, even if you were a small rodent that liked to eat them.

“Why do I have to start looking for a wife _now_?” Draco sighed, rubbing his temples.

“Because it is your duty to continue the Malfoy line,” Narcissa rolled her eyes, “I have another date set up for you tonight with Pansy. And, Draco, you will NOT mess this one up!”

Draco pulled his sheets over his head and simply mumbled a “yes, mother” before he tried to catch another half hour of sleep.

The sheet was quickly ripped off from him and he was enveloped by the cold air of the room as his mother’s raised voice, “You know the drill. Reservations. Wine. Dress Robes. Flowers. Gringotts.”

He was just about to bury his head under his pillow again when it was snatched away by his mother. “Now.”

Draco’s mood was just as pleasant as the weather outside.

**DMHG**

It was the third time in just as many days that Draco showed up on the stoop of Sherwood Florist. Like the first day, the door was locked and the sign clearly said the place was closed. Did he care?

Of course not.

He banged his fist on the door like a judge banged his gavel when the crowd became unruly. Did that open the shop?

Of course not.

Hermione, hearing a bang, another bang, and yet _another_ _bang_ against the shop door downstairs, simply ignored it and rolled over in bed.

This in turn only made Draco bang harder. When his fist started to hurt, he simply pulled out his wand and screamed to the balcony above the shop, “Granger, if you don’t open this door in one minute, I’m going to just walk into the shop and take whatever flowers I see fit.”

Draco knew he wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t just make himself a bouquet - let alone one that would impress his important date, emphasis on the _**important**_. And, if the plan that had been formulating in his mind somewhere between making reservations and getting new dress robes were to succeed, he’d need Granger as an accomplice.

She wasn’t going to get out of helping him make his mother rue the day she decided it was time for him to marry – Especially not a bland girl like Astoria or the boring Tracey. And Pansy Parkinson? What was his mother thinking?

He hoped Granger had some flowers especially meant to insult the cow.

Hermione, hearing the shouting, decided that she really didn’t want Malfoy alone in her shop. What if he accidentally lit it on fire? She did live above it, and that just wouldn’t do. She had lived through one fire already; she’d like to keep it that way.

She crawled out of bed, wrapped herself in her fluffy robe and slipped on her otter slippers - just like rabbit slippers, but Ginny had wanted to give Hermione something more personal - and stomped down the steps from her flat into her shop. She couldn’t hear anymore banging and was just about to turn around and go back to bed when she heard a whispered _Alohomora_ and the door swung open.

Her jaw dropped at the sight of a good looking Malfoy. He looked ridiculously attractive with his cheeks flushed from anger. She wondered if subconsciously that was the reason they had fought back in school. She closed her mouth and scoffed. Of course not. He was an arse then just as much as he was now.

"If I catch anything, I'll hold you at fault."

She glared at the blond.

"Seriously Granger, why are you even down here looking like that?" Draco asked gesturing in her general direction.

Hermione looked down at what she was wearing and noticed she was still in her "I'm sick" clothes. She was about to flush in embarrassment when she realised he was the reason she wasn't willing the cold away in her warm bed.

"You." She said through clenched teeth.

Draco was affronted at being blamed for the atrocity that stood before him. It was like tumbleweed after a storm decided to wrap itself in a towel. Quite a sight, and absolutely _not_ his fault.

Hermione easily guessed what was going through the posh ferret's mind and quickly berated herself for finding him dapper. Did anyone even say dapper these days? She immediately decided she would be going out for drinks once she got over this cold.

"There was this rodent trying to get into my store." She said as she eyed the day old blooms around the shop. She frowned. Hermione did not like it when her shop had anything other than fresh flowers. She quickly spelled them anew and glared at Malfoy when he stepped in front of her. “What do you want?”

Draco realised that if he wanted her assistance, he’d have to calm her down - but it was just too easy. “Why else does someone come into a flower shop?” He said as he walked around the shop, admiring the selection while grabbing random stems before placing them back in their bins.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She was not happy with the ferret keeping her out of bed. Didn’t he realise she was not feeling well? If he wasn’t going to make this worth it - and really, he was only _so_ cute, and that only made the first five minutes okay; she didn’t just think him as cute, it was just the cold - she would go back to bed.

“You know what Malfoy, keep your wand in its holster, and just pick whatever you want. The spell is _Statuo Flores_ when you have the flowers you like. But cast the spell outside. I don’t want you to do anything to my shop by accident.” She huffed and turned to the stairs in the back of the shop that lead to her flat. Her bed was calling her, and she figured she could finish grading those assignments for Neville while she rested.

Draco, recognising that he was losing his chance to get out of marrying Pansy Parkinson, decided to go for broke, “I need your help.” Asking Granger for help was nothing in comparison to a future with the Pug Faced Woman. He shuddered.

Hermione froze when she heard his request. Well, that was unexpected, she mused. She turned around and just stared at him. She shuffled over to him and just stared up into his face. Was he always this tall? She raised an arm and placed the back of her hand on his forehead. No, not warm.

“What are you doing?” Draco whispered. He was stunned and couldn’t move. Granger was sick, but were her eyes always that vibrant? Well, yes, he could say they were. He could admit, only to himself, that he enjoyed the fire in her eyes when they traded insults. He shook his head at the thought, also managing to knock her hand away from his face.

“Did you catch my sickness?”

Draco’s eyes widened and he immediately took a step back. “No,” he rasped. “You touched my face.” His voice slowly raised, “You touched my face!” He started to pace back and forth in front of the counter, mumbling, “She touched my face. I’m going to be sick now. Oh no, I’m going to be sick now.”

He shook his head and continued muttering, “But wait, if I’m sick, I can get out of tonight.” He stopped and practically jumped over the counter and took Hermione’s hands and started rubbing them against his face. He did _not_ want to find a wife and he would do just about anything besides kill someone to get out of it.

Hermione wanted to laugh, she really did, but she was too busy trying to break free from his grasp. When she was finally free she hid behind the till, “What. Are. You. Doing?” She asked through clenched teeth.

“My Mother has been setting me up on dates looking for a future bride and tonight she has me seeing Pansy Parkinson,” he rushed out in one breath.

Hermione struggled to understand him, but she was able to pick out what was important. She guffawed. This was rich! She laughed so hard she was bent over and slapping her leg.

Draco, upset with being the reason of her laughter, told her, “I’m serious Granger.” He grabbed her hand to keep her from moving and looked straight into her eyes, “For some reason, every bouquet that I’ve given has pissed off my ‘intended’ and I need you to continue doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

Hermione blushed. She felt a little ashamed at having messed up his dates, but then she smiled when she thought about it more. Not because Draco didn’t like the trollops his mother was setting him up with - leaving him free for Hermione - but because it was her goal to make his life harder. Which she clearly did, if his mother had him going on a date with Pansy Parkinson tonight.

She couldn’t decide whose night she’d rather ruin more. Malfoy’s or Parkinson’s? Malfoy made her very existence difficult in school while Parkinson continued to be a thorn in her side to this day. She _was_ one of her best paying customers, albeit the snootiest of them all, so Hermione could never truly seek revenge against her. But with Malfoy... Parkinson would never know.

Draco was still looking at her, trying to make his sincere face- which wasn’t very sincere- but it worked on everyone but his mother. “Please,” he whispered while letting his eyes water just a tad, for an added touch.

Hermione wanted to ruin Malfoy’s night more because he was trying to fool her with his fake face of sincerity. But then she thought of Pansy Parkinson, and really, Malfoy would be unhappy either way, but Parkinson would be very _very_ happy to marry Malfoy. The girl had never shut up about it when they were in school, or the few times Hermione had the _pleasure_ of providing flowers for her latest banquet – or what Ron and Harry dubbed “Snab a Husband Dinners”.

Kill two birds with one stone.

Hermione wasn’t the cleverest witch for nothing.

“Sure,” She laughed at Malfoy’s reaction.

Draco was speechless. His jaw fell to the floor and he was genuinely surprised that it had been that easy. He paused. Why had it been so easy? He took a step back from the sick, potentially crazy woman. He was rethinking his schemes, and decided that maybe it would be a good idea to just grab some flowers, do that spell and run. The gleam in Granger’s eye wasn’t helping very much either. What was that spell again? _Something Flowers_?

While Draco was busy pondering the spell Hermione gave him earlier, she walked around the shop picking flowers for the Bouquet of Doom - what Hermione dubbed Pansy’s gift. She picked some yellow carnations so the Parkinsons would know Draco saw her in disdain. She added two striped carnations for added measure. And because she was sure that Pansy was an idiot and couldn't understand, she pulled a few buttercups.

She skipped back to the counter, listening to Malfoy mutter about spells and flowers and crazy sick girls. Hermione rolled her eyes and cast _Statuo Flores_ and watched the Bouquet of Doom come together.

“That’s the spell!” Draco shouted and then blushed when he saw the completed bouquet.

“I present you the Bouquet of Doom,” Hermione said with an ominous voice, arms stretched over the counter to hand the flower arrangement to Malfoy.

He arched an eyebrow when she mentioned the name, but still grabbed hold.

“It needed a name,” Hermione protested when Draco started chuckling. “It’s a good name,” she muttered.

Draco, finding her adorable in that moment, decided to stop the shenanigans so he could not think of Granger as adorable - where did that come from, anyway? Feeling sorry for her despite her adorableness, he decided to give her a break. “Yeah, it’s a good name.”

Hermione beamed at the reassurance.

Draco’s cheeks flushed. He had to get away. He left some galleons on the counter and muttered a quiet “Thanks,” as he left the shop.

Hermione, confused by the abrupt departure, realised that she missed the ferret's silly rambling.

She scoffed and proceeded back to bed. The weird feelings were just the cold talking.


	4. Buttercups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops. I apologize for being a day late on this. The weekend was busy to say the least.
> 
> We're finally getting into the thick of it! I hope you enjoy!

**DMHG**

The following morning, for Hermione at least, could have been mistaken for the day before. Hermione awoke with a start, sitting up so she could sneeze. She could hear the light rain against the window and she groaned. She still didn’t feel very good - the rest not having helped. She grabbed her wand and cast a spell to close the shop for the day, including a message that ferrets were not welcome.

She laid back down against her pillows and promptly fell back asleep, mouth open to allow her to breathe.

**DMHG**

Draco, on the other hand, was awake much earlier than he had been in months, possibly even years. It was barely even seven when he walked down Diagon Alley to Sherwood Florist. He had just stepped onto the stoop when a sign appeared on the door. He laughed when he read the message obviously meant for him.

Did he listen to what it said?

Of course not. But before he broke into the shop, again, he went back to the Leaky Cauldron to get a peace offering.

It was fifteen minutes later when Draco appeared on the stoop holding fresh chicken noodle soup made by one Hannah Abbot. He was even nice to her when ordering. If anyone could appreciate that, it would be Granger, he thought.

The sign stared him in the face. He thought about just going home again but promptly realised what was waiting for him should he return - his mother.

While Granger was one feisty witch, and could pack one hell of a wallop. She had nothing on Narcissa Malfoy. The woman was Bellatrix’s Lestrange’s sister, for Merlin's sake. The crazy scary wasn’t saved only for his aunt. In recent years, he had seen his Aunt Andromeda when she cared for Teddy even. No, the Black sisters were all nuts.

He cast _Alohomora_ and entered the desolate shop. He frowned at the sight. There were flowers withering and the place looked dark and gloomy. He recalled that Granger had cast a spell the day before to freshen the flowers up. He made a note to ask her for it before he left. He did cast a quick _Scourgify_ to get rid of the dust while he went up the stairs.

The flat above the shop wasn’t in a better condition. There were no lights on, the curtains were drawn, and it was just as a pitiful state as downstairs. He sighed and looked for Granger. He noted the kitchen in the corner by the balcony. There were two doors on the opposite wall. He opened the first one and found the bathroom.

One down. She better be in the other one. The chicken soup was getting cold and he was tired of holding it.

Draco had thought the shop was gloomy, but it had nothing on Granger's bedroom. The room was darker than the dungeons at the Manor, and that was saying something. He shuddered at the comparison and decided the room was as dark as a cave. Yes, that was a much better comparison. It didn't make him uncomfortable.

With the little light coming through the thick burgundy - house affinity, anyone? - drapes, he could see a heap of something in the middle of a large bed. The burgundy - did she not own any other color? - sheets rustled with the breathing of what laid hidden within them. Draco laid the soup down on the nightstand next to the bed and debated how best to go about waking the potential time bomb.

He could scare her awake. But that wouldn’t end well for him.

He could shake her until she awoke. But that could end up scaring her, which again, wouldn’t end well for him.

He could set an alarm and hide in the kitchen. It could scare her, but he wouldn’t be near to receive the retribution.

So obviously, that was the wisest choice.

**DMHG**

_**BRING - BRING - BRING** _

Hermione stumbled out of bed, tripping over the tangled sheets, and fell onto the floor with a loud **THUMP**.

Before she could catch her bearings there was a muffled “Should have fixed the sheets before setting the alarm,” coming from the kitchen that peaked her interest. She rubbed her eyes with balled fists and tried to disentangle herself from her bed sheets. She glared at the transfigured alarm clock as she followed the racket coming from her kitchen. She found her robe and fluffy slippers, and much like the day before, officially started her day.

“Good morning, Granger,” a chipper deep voice came from the man standing at her sink. He was tall, blond, and wore tight dark slacks showcasing his nice arse. Hermione was not happy to find the ferret in her home. She was just about to yell for him to leave when he turned around with a bowl of soup and placed it in front of her. “Eat.”

Hermione gaped at him. What in the hell? She wasn’t sure what he was doing in her flat nor did she want to know. So she did the most sensible thing, which was eat the soup.

She hummed in approval.

Draco watched her eat. He internally laughed when she gaped at him. Plan C worked brilliantly. He woke her up and was still alive, without being hexed or punched. All in all, today was going swimmingly.

Until there was a pecking at the window. He noticed the owl first, and cringed. It was his mother’s owl, and if she sent it to him this early, something terrible was about to happen. He could only hope the letter wasn’t red.

Hermione was halfway finished with her soup when she saw Malfoy opening her window. She wanted to yell at him for thinking it was a good idea to let the cold in when she was sick, but was quickly beaten to it by the howler going off at him.

“Draco Abraxas Malfoy. Really? Is this what I deserve after birthing you? Raising you? Taking the brunt of your father’s ire? Ensuring you wouldn’t go to Azkaban? Is this how you thank me?

“Violet Parkinson has just stopped by for tea this morning and informed me of your atrocious attitude with her lovely daughter Pansy.”

Hermione snorted. Pansy Parkinson, lovely? Yeah, right.

The howler continued, “Carnations? Buttercups? Did I not raise you right, Draco? And you were absolutely abysmal towards your date. What am I to do with you?”

The howler sniffed. Hermione didn’t know it could do that. By the look of Draco - no, Malfoy’s face - he didn’t either.

“I have set up another date for you tonight. Same errands. And stop messing up Draco. You’re going to put me into an early grave.”

Then the howler disintegrated to ash.

Hermione immediately broke into laughter, mixed with the occasional cough.

Draco tried to hide his smile. He really did. But Granger laughing at his misfortune, while having a coughing fit, was borderline adorable. He went for a smirk, while scowling with his brow. He loved being a Malfoy, it was like they were engineered to be able to make pleasing looks while also looking down on you.

Hermione hated the look Malfoy was giving her. She was done laughing and could only cough. It was starting to get painful and all he could do was smirk and scowl - _smowl_ \- at her. She wanted to hit him upside the head. Instead, she opted to throw her spoon at him.

He caught it with ease. Granted she missed his head by a lot. “Stupid seeker,” she mumbled while she tried to capture her breath.

When she could finally breathe normally - or what normal constituted for a sick person - she asked, “So I take it the flowers worked last night?”

“Clearly.”

“And you have another date tonight, it seems.” Hermione didn’t know how she felt about that. The soup was delicious, and was clearing up her sinuses. She wouldn’t tell Malfoy that she appreciated the gesture though. Nor would she tell him she didn’t want him to be going on another date. That would be preposterous.

Draco watched the emotions pass through her face. Silly Gryffindors couldn’t hide their feelings at all. When he caught disappointment flash through her eyes as she mentioned his next date, he startled. Why would she be disappointed?

Was he?

Of course he was. His mother had him shopping around for a bloody wife. He was very disappointed that the ploy didn’t work. Well, at least he got out of Pansy’s claws. Anyone would deem that a success, he thought.

“Yes, so hop to it, Granger. We have another Bouquet of Doom to make. Downstairs is a mess and I don’t remember the spells you used yesterday.” Draco said as he led the way to the stairs, sashaying his hips in a way only befitting of a Malfoy, subtly making sure to see if Granger was eyeing his arse.

She was.

Hermione saw the smirk graced on his face, and scowled. Well, if he wanted to play this game, she would play. She stomped past him down the stairs and flipped her hair over her shoulder at the bottom of the steps and then sneezed.

Draco chuckled. He found he liked this kind of fighting much better than the fighting they did in school. It was almost endearing how she tried to be sexy while being sick. Didn’t she know only a Malfoy could pull that off?

Hermione furrowed her brow. Damn this sickness. The soup didn’t do it’s job. She’d need to get to the Apothecary and get some Pepper-up Potion if she wanted to get over this cold quickly enough. Especially if she wanted to keep the shop open.

Leaving to get the potion wouldn’t be a good idea. Especially dressed as she was. She eyed her shop, the lack of fresh flowers, the dark gloomy atmosphere, then turned her gaze to the blond man sitting on the counter next to the till, kicking his legs.

An idea formed in her head and she smiled in glee.

Draco dreaded the smile growing on Granger’s face. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to mess with her sensibilities while she was sick. Or right after waking her. He looked to the door and was going to bolt for it. Maybe it would be a better idea to hide at Blaise’s.

Hermione quickly stepped in front of the door, blocking his only exit. Her smile only brightened.

“I need you to go to the following places.” Hermione _Accio_ some parchment and a quill. She wrote down directions to the Columbia Road Flower Market and a list of flowers she knew a spell wouldn’t revive. She looked around the store and made sure to include some of the other flowers that were at the end of their life spans as well. “Go here,” she handed him the list and then pulled out some Muggle money. “And use this to pay for it.”

Draco took the list and eyed it. His eyes widened when she handed him the Muggle money. Muggle London? She wanted him to go into Muggle London?

“Actually,” Hermione rescinded her hand with the money, “Just say it’s for Sherwood Florist. They’ll put it on my tab.” She placed a tenner in his hands, “for transportation.”

Draco heard what she said, but didn’t really comprehend it. He was stuck on the idea of going into Muggle London.

Was this really better than being home with his mother?

He saw the challenging look in Granger's eyes. He scowled. He couldn't let her think she could scare him so easily. What sort of basis for a relationship would that be?

Wait. Full stop. Draco even gasped, catching the attention of Hermione. Where did that idea come from?

He opted to ignore it. He scowled even harder at her, less she remember his gasp and left the shop with every intention of getting the flowers.

Hermione was surprised that he went. She liked that it only took one look for him to do her bidding. He was lucky she wasn't a dark mistress, she mused, otherwise he'd be doing errands far worse than fetching flowers.

With that sorted, Hermione returned to her flat to shower and try and fight the cold.


	5. Peonies

**DMHG**

Draco walked down Diagon Alley in stride. He didn’t want Granger - or anyone - know how uneasy he felt. When he made it to just outside the entrance of The Leaky Cauldron, he sidestepped into an alleyway to eye the parchment again.

_1\. Pick up Pepper Up Potion from the Apothecary._  
_2\. Ask Neville for the monkshood. Tell him I’ve already sent him the papers via owl._  
_3\. Go to Columbia Road Flower Market - Hail a cab and tell them._  
_If you feel brave, then you can walk to Trafalgar Square and take the 91 bus towards Hornsey Vale. Get off on Stop Y and walk to Bloomsbury Square and take bus 55 towards Walthamstow. Get off Stop HH (Queensbridge Road) and walk to Columbia Road. The storefront is yellow and next to a fabric store. If you miss it, you’re blind!_  
_4\. Come back! You can Apparate but make sure no Muggles see you! And don’t harm my flowers!_

If he’s brave... Who did she think he was? He was actually going into Muggle London, that’s brave enough. He’d hail a cab... Whatever that was, and get the flowers she needed.

Who was he kidding? Going into Muggle London was the last thing he expected to do today. Sure, he was hiding from his mother, but he didn’t think going into the unknown was warranted. Yet, his mother wanted him to find a wife... He didn’t want a wife.

He’d do what Hermione asked. He didn’t like owing favours, and she did help him get rid of Parkinson. Draco shuddered at the thought of the pug latched onto his arm.

He walked away from the Leaky and back towards the shop. He tiptoed through the shadows to avoid being seen. He didn’t want to give Hermione the idea he was stalling to avoid the last bit of the list - so what if it was true.

He made it to the Apothecary in one piece, Granger-free. There was no line, sadly, so he had no excuse to linger.

He hoped that finding Longbottom would take some time. So be it if it was the pudgy - Draco liked to think of him still as he was all those years ago - boy wasn’t someone he’d normally want to spend any amount of time with, he’d rather spend time with him then in dodgy Muggle London.

_Merlin only knew what a cab was._

Actually, Merlin probably didn’t. So why would Draco? He puzzled over what it could be and how best to find out without looking like an idiot, as he slid through the shadows once more, bypassing Sherwood Florist, back towards the beginning of Diagon Alley.

The Leaky Cauldron wasn’t packed. It was still early enough in the morning, but Neville Longbottom was seated right at the bar, a cuppa and a dragonhide bag on the counter in front of him.

Draco leisurely strolled forward and sat in the seat two down from the Herbologist. He nodded towards Hannah for his normal cup of tea when Longbottom finally noticed him. Draco knew that he caught the man’s attention when he heard the gasp followed by the crash on the floor.

“Still as graceful, I see,” Draco shook his head.

“Ma- Malfoy! What are you doing here?” Neville asked as he straightened himself out. He dusted off his robes and took his seat once more, warily eyeing the blond.

“Granger says that the papers are en route and to expect them by owl. She wants me to also pick up her monkshood.” Draco said, not having actually looked at Longbottom. He took a sip of his tea, as if nothing Longbottom did would matter.

It didn’t really. Plus, the longer he stayed shocked, the longer Draco had until stepping out into Muggle London.

He mentally shuddered.

“What are you talking about?” Neville finally questioned. He was sitting on the edge of his seat with a perplexed look, facing Draco. He ignored Hannah as she fussed over his breakfast in front of him.

Draco thought it’d be nice to have a woman fuss over him like Longbottom’s wife was, but then thought about how he really didn’t want a wife - especially one his mother set him up with.

He shuddered for real this time.

“Longbottom, just deliver the Monkshood to Sherwood Florist. Granger isn’t feeling well but she wanted me to pass the message.” Draco rolled his eyes, was it always this difficult to talk to Gryffindors?

“So you’re an errand boy now?” Longbottom chuckled.

“Just make the delivery,” Draco growled, leaving a galleon for the tea and walked out of the Leaky Cauldron, paying no mind to his surroundings, less Longbottom notice his unease.

He made it down the steps, only to be shoved aside by a random Muggle. This was why he avoided coming out here. The crowds were atrocious. How did anyone expect to get around without being manhandled?

He rummaged through his pockets looking for the Muggle money Granger gave him, but pulled his hands out with nothing in them.

There was no money.

_What happened to the money?_

He paced in front of the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, not caring if he looked crazy. How was he supposed to get to the flower shop now?

He didn’t know how to hail a cab.

He wasn’t even sure what a cab was.

And even if he did know, he didn’t have any money to pay for it.

He could always cast _Confundus_ on the driver, but he knew that would just cause him more trouble in the long run.

So what could he do?

He couldn’t go back empty handed, that was for sure. Granger would be smug and a give him her smug face. Oh how he hated the smug face, it was one of the main reasons he poked fun at her at school. Yes, blood was an issue, but it was more of his parents' - he wasn’t sure if it still was a problem for his mother, but everyone she had him going on dates with were Purebloods, so maybe? - issue. Draco mostly cared about being shown up, and Granger did that in spades. She was Muggle-born, but still managed to beat him in all their classes except Divination - she dropped the class and Draco liked to pretend he didn’t do so well in the rubbish course - and Flying - he wanted to take pride in this, but Granger supposedly flew a Thestral and a Dragon, so being able to fly on a broom seemed like pygmy puffs.

He just wanted to get to the flower market. He sighed, maybe he should just admit defeat and go home to listen to his mother nag him into finding a wife.

Draco pulled out his wand and pouted. He really didn’t want to find a wife. A girlfriend, maybe, but a wife? He was too young for something permanent, and he would admit only to himself that he would prefer to marry for love. One date was not enough time to fall in love, especially with the airheaded harpies his mother kept pairing him off with.

Luckily, before he managed to _Apparate_ back to the manor, a triple-decker, disgustingly purple bus stopped in front of him, door opening for Stan Shunpike - Draco remembered him from that bad year he liked to pretend was just a very, very long nightmare - stepping down to let him in.

“Where to?” he asked, while Draco walked on board. He walked a few rows down and made himself comfortable in a cozy armchair.

Once settled, he looked back up to Stan and Ernie Prang - the old man with thick glasses driving the bus - and gave them his destination. Draco ignored the puzzled look on both men's face when they realised he was going to a Muggle establishment.

_Yes, I’m a Malfoy, and I can go wherever the hell I damn well please, thank you very much!_

Stan eyed him as if he were a Death Eater out looking for prey - even when he was a Death Eater, he never went looking for victims - when he offered the standard hot chocolate. Draco nodded his head, hoping to get rid of the pimple-laden man-boy away from him as soon as possible. He stared out the window as the reds and blues and grays of Muggle London blurred all together. He watched as crowds of people waited on corners for automobiles to pass, and for automobiles sitting idle in traffic.

_Sweet Salazar, I’m glad I was born a wizard._

How Granger spent the first eleven years of her life dealing with all that, he’d never know. How she continued to go out into Muggle London when Wizarding London was just right there, he also didn’t understand. If they were on better terms, he might’ve asked.

I’m going to Muggle London for her, I have every right to ask, the state of our relationship be damned.

Did they have a relationship? Well, to an extent. She was a proprietor and he was her client - probably her best one, seeing how he never saw anyone in the shop. She was also an accomplice, as she did help him get rid of Parkinson the day before.

_Thank Merlin._

The bus sped along through the streets of London. Draco knew that if he wasn’t use to flying, he’d have wretch by now. He started to wonder if Granger had ever ridden the Knight Bus and how she would react to such an experience.

Before he could truly contemplate on the different experiences of Granger, the bus came to an abrupt halt, making him knock his head on the seat in front of him. Luckily, it was cushioned, but unluckily, it still hurt.

“It happens,” Stan mumbled, “that’ll be four Sickles for the lift and an extra two for the drink.”

Draco pulled out a Galleon, not caring for the change, and tossed it at the conductor while stepping off the bus.

Just as the note said, a yellow shopfront next to a fabric store stood before him. There were loads of people milling about and Draco started to feel claustrophobic - so what if he was outdoors. Too many people bumping into him and just making his morning even more unbearable.

He decided to suck it up and walked forward with purpose, Malfoy air very much in place. He was better than these people. Not because he was a Pureblood and they were mere Muggles, but because he was Draco Malfoy and very few people were on the same level as him. The Malfoy air helped as people simply stepped aside for the man with a purpose about him.

He looked at the various bins filled to the brim with different coloured plants. The market was full of fresh flowers and the scents were overwhelming. He had no idea what each flower was or what to get so he tried to find someone who worked there. He mumbled softly, naming all the uses of dragon’s blood whenever someone shoved him or scuffed his shoes.

For half an hour he walked around the busy flower market, unable to distinguish the difference between customer and shopkeep. He was becoming frustrated and about to just _Accio_ everything that Granger needed when someone finally approached him asking if he needed help.

He didn’t understand why it took them so long to ask, but he would do what he must to get out of there quickly. He’d mention the terrible service to Granger, she could do something about it - and maybe take the hint about her own customer service.

“I need these flowers,” he said thrusting the parchment out into the man’s chest. The man was startled and had to cough, but took hold of the list nevertheless. He started walking around the market, and Draco followed, holding the flowers as they were handed to him.

“Funny you want peonies,” the florist man muttered, handing Draco another batch of flowers. At the rate he was going, Draco was going to be overwhelmed with flowers, they were practically coming out of his ears. He had a few stems pushed into his pockets, just so he could hold onto more.

“Why would you say that?” Draco asked, trying to figure out an easier way to hold all the flowers. He shook his head at all the wrapped flowers in his arms, wondering if he could get away with shrinking them. How did Granger do this every day?

“Oh, peonies used to be used in bouquets to show shame, that’s all.” He said, moving forward to the next flower on the list.

“The flowers mean something?” Draco mumbled, confused, feeling that he was missing something very obvious.

Ten minutes later, with all the flowers on the list in a large basket he could swing over his arm - that must be how Granger pulled it off, why they didn’t give him the basket in the beginning, he’d never know - he was in the alleyway next to the shop, just about to _Apparate_ back to Diagon Alley, when he figured it out.

He very nearly shouted, “The flowers have meanings!”

He absolutely did not slap himself in the forehead for being dense, but he may have rolled his eyes at himself.


	6. Cactus

**DMHG**

Draco returned to Sherwood Florist bombarded in flowers. He always thought a light floral perfume was tasteful, but right now, he felt like a Parkinson, doused in every possible scent and ready to throw up.

“Your flowers are suffocating me, Granger.” Draco coughed while placing them on the counter.

Hermione looked up from _The Quibbler_ , still chewing on the end of her quill, trying to puzzle the answer to seven-across.

“Granger, what do you want me to do with these?” He asked, trying not to think how her lips looked with the pen in her mouth. He needed to think of less naughty things, and fast. He started relaying this years Quidditch schedule to avoid staring at her tongue twisting around the pen.

“Ferret!” She shouted, eyes wide in excitement, before returning to her puzzle and swiftly writing the answer.

She had her smug face on, and Draco did not like it one bit. First she draws his attention to her very nimble tongue, all the while ignoring him after doing her a favour, but she also called him a ferret. He would not stand for it. He shoved one of the parcels off the counter, only to hear it shatter at her feet.

“What did you do that for?” she shouted, staring at the broken pot with a green prickly thing laying on its side not far off.

“You called me a ferret!” Draco continued, holding back any remorse from his voice. She deserved a broken plant.

She rolled her eyes at him and fixed the pot with a spell. “It was the answer to the crossword,” she said while carefully floating the cactus back into its home. “Idiot,” she mumbled when she finished her task.

“I heard that, and I’m neither a ferret nor an idiot, so make sure your pretty head remembers that.” He blushed. He hadn’t meant to say pretty, hopefully she didn’t catch that.

No luck, she did, and her face was bright red, and not just from being sick. Hermione decided it would be best to just ignore him and put all the flowers away.

Draco, grateful for the dismissal of the comment, realised he had no further reason to bother Granger, and he needed to get the woman out of his mind.

“Later,” he muttered, quickly leaving the shop.

“Weirdo,” Hermione whispered, intent on focusing on her work and not how good he looked when arguing with her.

**DMHG**

“Draco, I demand to know where you were this morning, and why you have been upsetting all these girls!” His mother’s voice shrilled from the front drawing room.

Draco rolled his eyes, not really wanting to deal with his mother. He had a busy morning avoiding her, going to Muggle London, and realising he may or may not find Granger attractive. He had a lot on his plate, and actually answering his mother wasn’t in the forefront of his mind. He continued to walk down the entrance hall, purposefully ignoring the opened door to the drawing room.

“Draco!” She started to shout.

He ignored her all the way up the stairs, down the hallway through the family wing, and into his room. He continued to disregard the shouts while he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled down his trousers before jumping into bed.

Today was a long day.

“Draco, I was talking to you,” his mother huffed in a dignified manner that only a Malfoy - it still counted if by marriage - could pull off.

“And I was tired,” he mumbled into his pillow, rolling over to get more comfortable. He really didn’t want to have this discussion. Maybe staying at Granger’s and dealing with the awkwardness would have been better.

_Since when did I find her attractive or worth a second glance?_

That was easy to answer. When Snape mentioned how she managed to put the entire Slytherin house to shame in first-year. He had an eye on her from the very start. No one - except him, on the rare occasion - could get a compliment - back handed or not - from his godfather, and for a Muggle-born girl to do it in their first year, it would have been dumb of him to not take notice.

And she was good at magic. She must’ve created all those spells to help run her shop more efficiently. He could admire that. If he ever decided to add to the Malfoy fortunes - and really, why would he need to work to do that? The investments his father and forefathers set up made sure to keep the family coffers full - he could use a smart person like her on his side.

“Draco, I am talking to you,” his mother sighed, seating herself at the edge of his bed. Her face wary as she looked to be contemplating something. She fiddled with the edge of his blanket, looking at him and then back at her hands. “I understand you don’t want to get married Draco, but you’re hardly even trying to do something with your life,” she finally managed to say.

He sat up and pulled his mother close, figuring that this was a moment where being a Malfoy wouldn’t help. She needed physical proof that he loved her and affection was the only way to do that. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

“Mum, I’m still young, you know,” he teased.

“Yes, but I want you to be happy. Not just sequestering yourself to your rooms and letting the world pass you by,” she lightly slapped his leg over the blanket.

“I am happy,” he countered.

She glared at him, showing that she hardly believed him.

“Okay, I could be happier, but sending me on dates with vapid gold-digging whor... “ he blushed, quickly changing words, “girls, will hardly make me happy.”

“Well, how about a bargain?” she suggested, pushing herself up from the bed.

Draco knew not to look a gift-horse in the mouth, even if a little suspicious - but if it would stop the planned dates, who was he to complain - and instantly perked up. “A bargain?” he asked.

“Yes, you do something with yourself. Actively move forward in your life, and I’ll leave you be.” She nodded, happy with the proposed arrangement.

“Sure,” he tried not to sound too eager, but he barely could hold back the smile donning his face.

“But, I already scheduled an evening with Lisa Turpin for tomorrow night. Who knows, maybe she won’t be vapid or gold-digging...” Draco scoffed as she continued, walking out of his room, letting him contemplate his life.

_No more dates, no more wife-hunting, no more flowers..._

The last thought startled him by how much it saddened him. No more flowers meant no more Granger. Well, he still had to get flowers for tomorrow’s date. Maybe whatever feelings he felt today would be gone tomorrow.

**DMHG**

Hermione woke up the next morning with a clearer head, more able to breathe, but shivering. She noted that the rain had gone, but it was still rather cold outside. She sighed, and scrambled out of bed to get ready for the day.

While setting her teapot on the stovetop, she hummed, wondering if her days were going to be normal again. She eyed the clock and noted that it was almost 7, and realised that it wouldn’t be, as she hadn’t gotten up at 5.30 like she would normally.

She hoped it wasn’t an omen for things to continue being strange.

At least, not as strange as they had been.

Like Draco Malfoy complimenting her and doing her favours.

She shook her head, and continued with her morning. Yes, she felt flattered to be called pretty by the blond, even if it was in passing. It was actually the nicest thing he had ever said to her in their entire time of knowing each other.

It was almost as good as when he had asked for her help.

She dried the furniture on her balcony with a spell and sat down to drink her morning cup of tea. She would have to open soon, but it could wait. At least she didn’t really have to leave the shop to run errands. All thanks to Malfoy.

Weird that he actually went into to Muggle London when she asked - more like demanded - he go for her. She really hadn’t expected him to do that.

Oh well, she had business to take care of.

**DMHG**

Draco was on cloud nine. Yes, he had a date tonight, but it was the last one for a long while. He just had to show his mother that he wasn’t laying about - and really, it wouldn’t be that hard - and he would get off scot-free.

He wasn’t sure if life could get any better, but it was definitely the best he had felt in the past few days.

He did the normal list of errands in glee, not trying his hardest as the date did not have the emphasis on **_importance_** \- and thank Merlin for that.

He did not book dinner at Bon Appetit, but actually a corner booth of The Leaky Cauldron. It was Lisa Turpin, he didn’t care to impress her and he didn’t have to try now that his mother gave him the all clear.

He went to Madam Malkins and didn’t get the best robes. He actually purchased something net-a-porter, but still had it tailored to fit him exclusively.

He went to Gringotts, but not to get more of his Galleons, but to exchange money. He was handed some Muggle banknotes, and carefully pocketed them inside his jacket - he would not be mugged again - and practically skipped down Diagon Alley back to the Leaky Cauldron. He tipped his head at Hannah Abbot and strode out into Muggle London without a second glance - attitude much different than the day before.

He did not stop at the bottom steps, he crossed the streets, ignoring traffic and the honks meant for him, and pulled open the door to the shop he had heard about once from Mugdungus Fletcher. He eyed the aisles full of bottles of liquor and instantly knew he was in the right place. Only Fletcher would boast about the superiority of Muggle’s alcohol.

Draco warily walked down each aisle, examining the different coloured and sized bottles. Each with names he wasn’t familiar with. Some tall misted bottles called Vodka came in Grey Goose and Belvedere brands and cost quite a bit of coin - as if that mattered to him, he was a Malfoy, he had plenty of money, even if it was Muggle.

Eventually he made it to the back wall that he was sure housed all the wine. He perused all the bottles from the very top - the best, if price was anything to go by - all the way to the bottom where wine was being sold in boxes.

_What would Muggles think of next? Single serving wine boxes?_

He shook his head. He wanted to offend the Turpins, sure, but he wouldn’t stoop low enough to gift them with a wine box. A bottle of cheap Muggle wine would suffice.

He grabbed a random bottle that was mid-shelf - but closer to the bottom - that barely cost him a Galleon and went up to the till. He pointed to a random small plant - it literally could sit in the palm of his hand - it reminded him of the pot he broke at Granger’s the day before.

The Muggle man eyed him suspiciously and Draco just put up his Malfoy arrogance once more and placed the bottle on the counter. “Problem?”

The Muggle shook his head but never took his eye off of Draco.

Draco scoffed and placed a note - what the Goblins referred as twenty quid - on the counter and grabbed the bottle and plant -careful to only hold the pot - before the Muggle could do anything strange.

If anyone had the right to be cautious, it was Draco. Really, selling wine in a box.

**DMHG**

“OUCH!” Hermione shouted after hitting her head in the cupboard. She was startled by a bell from downstairs, meaning a customer had just entered her shop.

Before she could even get up off the floor and head downstairs, she heard someone stomping up to her flat. She cast a spell to make sure she was presentable and eyed the oven to make sure the dessert she was making was fine.

“Why are you on the floor?” The snarky voice that she loathed - and somewhat missed - said from the doorway of her kitchen.

“Because I was trying to get something out of the cupboard for my cream puffs,” she replied, pulling herself.

“Oh, well, here,” Draco thrust out the hand holding the strange plant thing. He managed to prick his finger by poking it and he wanted it out of his hands as soon as possible.

“You got me a cactus?” she grabbed it and put it on the counter.

“Is that what it’s called? I thought it was a prickly menace, but to each their own,” he rolled his eyes.

“Yes, a cactus. Why?” She asked, staring at him expectantly.

“Because I broke yours yesterday, I don’t know.” He flushed. He didn’t really know why he got it, it just made him think of Granger and it was there, but he would never tell her that. “What does it mean?”

“Huh?” She asked, moving it so it was near the window by her sink.

“What does it mean? The Muggle said that peonies meant shame.” He asked, pulling himself up to sit on the counter. He eyed the cream puffs in the oven, trying to hide that his mouth was watering.

“Oh! A cactus means bravery and endurance.” She replied, finally happy with where the cactus was.

“So it’s perfect for you,” he mumbled, but Hermione caught it and gasped.

It was several moments before she turned around to actually look at him. He continued to stare into her oven, acting as if what he had just said never happened.

Well, if he was going to play it like that, she could play. “Why are you here?” she asked, shoving him off her counter.

“I need flowers. Bouquet of Doom should suffice.”

“Another date?” she cringed. She was not unhappy about that - she was not!

“Sort of. My mother has given in and this will be the last date for a while. No more wife hunting, so I figured I could go out in style.” He chuckled, leaning over on the counter.

For some reason, Hermione’s heart lightened and her face brightened. “Okay, that’s easy.” She cast _Accio_ for the flowers needed for her now infamous Bouquet of Doom, and made the arrangement. When done, she placed it next to Draco’s arms and noticed a bottle of wine. A Muggle bottle of wine.

She raised her eyebrow at that and waited for a response.

She didn’t have to wait long.

“Like I said, go out in style.” He smiled - not smirked, not scowled, _not smowled_ \- he actually smiled, and Hermione’s face nearly split in two. She liked his smile.

DING!

“Oh!” Hermione jumped, turned back to the oven to take care of the now finished cream puffs. She pulled them out and placed them on a cooling rack that was resting by the sink.

Draco reached over her shoulder and grabbed one, immediately dropped it, and stuck his fingers into his mouth.

“That’s what you get!” She scoffed, pushing him away from her person. Did he always smell that good?

Did she always smell that good? Draco hadn’t meant to get all close to her - he was still trying to get her out of his head - but it was cream puffs, and they were his absolute favourite.

“May I have one?” he asked, stepping away so that he was leaning against the opposite counter once more.

“No,” she chided, placing a charm to keep them warm and putting them into a plastic container.

“Why not?” he whined - what sounded like whining to anyone that wasn’t a Malfoy, and something definitely not a whine if you were a Malfoy.

She laughed, expecting him to stomp his foot and say “my father will hear about this.” She shook her head and pushed him out of her kitchen while clutching the container close.

“Take your flowers and wine, I have to ready the shop to close.” He quickly swiped the items off her counter while she pushed him out of her flat into the shop.

“But the cream puffs,” he really did whine. Being a Malfoy be damned. He wanted those cream puffs.

“Are meant for a party for Hannah and Neville.” She scolded, making sure all the flowers were in the right bins and turning off the lights.

“Oh, okay,” he was quick to respond. He bid her adieu and walked away. It was probably going to be at the Leaky Cauldron, and he had a date to ruin. Then he could partake in the scrumptious treats.

Hermione didn’t think on why he let it go so quickly, but she did make sure to make note of his eagerness for cream puffs. She never knew when something like that could come in handy.

**DMHG**

Draco really wanted to bang his head on the table. If he thought the previous girls were dull, they had nothing on Lisa Turpin. Were Ravenclaws all this talkative and boring? He remembered overhearing Potter’s blonde friend once, and while she was definitely odd, at least she provided entertainment.

What was his mother thinking? Honestly.

He eyed the bar once more, making sure that the platter of cream puffs remained full. He was Slytherin enough to admit casting a spell to make anyone making to grab for one instantly want something else - a good _Confundus_ always came in handy. Those cream puffs were his reward for having to sit there and listen to his date yap and yap.

He was lucky to have positioned himself with his back to the wall. He could pretend to be listening attentively and looking at her, when in all actuality, he was eyeing over her shoulder. Granger was there, laughing with her Gryffindor friends. She was wearing a tight fitting -tastefully so - sleeveless flowing black dress that ended at her knees.

Lisa Turpin was wearing a low-cut emerald halter dress that barely went down half her thighs.

He shook his head, there had to be a way to end this torture.

“Excuse me,” he said, not really bothering to care if he interrupted her, and meandered through the Leaky Cauldron towards the facilities. On his way back, he made sure to walk by the bar, lightly wrapping his arm around Granger’s waist as to pull her close enough to whisper, “save me,” before going back to his ‘date’.

He mentally shuddered. It didn’t seem his absence deterred the vapid, gold-digging whore. She just continued to go on and on about no one knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Hermoine save him? Tune in next week to find out!


	7. Bouquet of Doom: the Sequel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay on this. i didn't get to edit it yesterday and didn't want to post it all weird.

**DMHG**

“Hello, Draco,” Hermione purred as she sat into his lap, ignoring the shocked gasp coming from across the table.

He gulped and was about to scream at her when she gave him a look saying ‘play along’. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. Damn, she smelled even better than before. He nuzzled his lips into the crook of her neck making her shiver.

“Just listening to someone my mother wanted me to have dinner with,” he said, trying to hold back from licking down her collar.

“The nerve!” His dinner guest snapped. “First you give my family a cheap bottle of wine we’ve never even heard of. You give me a bouquet made of carnations. You take me to dinner here, of all places. And now your canoodling with another woman!”

Hermione chuckled into Malfoy’s hair. She really loved the Bouquet of Doom. Maybe she could advertise it as the break-up flowers or something. Men would line up for it, she was sure.

Draco, on the other hand, was not contemplating new marketing strategies. He was pushing Hermione aside so that she would avoid being collateral damage to the Butterbeer Lisa Turpin splashed in his direction.

“I hate you Draco Malfoy, and no wonder your mother has you seeing all these girls. Couldn’t find yourself a decent woman if you tried.” She scoffed.

Hermione, upset that some of the butterbeer hit her nice dress - and maybe from the implication that she wasn’t a decent woman - sat back on Draco’s lap, but made sure that Lisa Turpin - and the rest of customers of the Leaky Cauldron, who were paying rapt attention as the scene unfolded - knew exactly who she was.

“First of all, to imply that you are decent, is to mock the very word.” Hermione sneered. “Secondly, Draco,” she practically purred, “doesn’t need any of you.”

“Exactly, why would I need you when I have Hermione Granger,” he added on, caught up in the moment and pulled Hermione around and kissed her smack on the lips.

She let her fingers fiddle in his hair and pulled him in closer - was there a closer? - and nipped at his bottom lip.

He pulled her further into his lap, not caring that she could easily feel the evidence of his desire for her, and let her tongue play with his own.

“Ahem!” A loud cough startled the two, making Draco push Hermione off his lap and onto the floor.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, helping to pull her up.

“My fault,” she replied, hands held behind her back, looking at the floor. Her face was scarlet, she knew, but boy could he snog.

“That was quite a show. You may want to do some damage control.” The landlady, Hannah Abbott, lectured while she cleared the table.

“Oh, right,” the two both muttered, trying not to look at the other.

“I’ll deal with it. You go eat cream puffs and leave.” Hermione said in the direction of Malfoy, still unable to look him in the eye. She walked away quickly to all her friends, hoping none of them saw what just happened.

Draco, not wanting to acknowledge the twinkle in Hannah’s eye, quickly marched towards the cream puffs he had wanted the whole night.

 _A snog and cream puffs, good way to end the night_ , he mused. He grabbed a handfull of them and left the establishment. He had a lot to think on.

_Like why did he and Granger kiss?_

Hermione, having successfully distracted her friends from asking her anything to do with Malfoy, was happy to remember that he loved cream puffs. Apparently, they made good incentive to get him to listen to you.

She popped one into her mouth and reached for another drink. Maybe if she drank enough, she’d understand what was going on.

_Why did I let him kiss me?_

**DMHG**

Draco knew what was coming. He knew exactly what to expect. And while he would much rather avoid Granger after last night, there was someone far worse. He preferred being far, far away - and somewhere she would never look for him - from his mother as possible.

So he went straight to Sherwood Florist, ignored the closed sign, and plodded up the stairs and made himself a cup of tea. He eyed the leftover cream puffs, and began to munch on them.

If he was going to have to face Hermione Granger after snogging her, without having any answers to why, he would make sure to do it on a full stomach filled with delicious cream puffs.

**DMHG**

Hermione woke up in pain. Her mouth felt like she swallowed cotton, her head felt like a herd of hippogriffs trampled through, and her stomach wanted to come up her throat. She knew she shouldn’t have drank that much the night before, but each drink did not bring more answers. They did, however, help her forget about the whole problem.

But now that it was the next morning, and she was positively not going to drink another alcoholic beverage in a long, long time, the problem was glaring her straight in the face. Well, not in the face perse, but through her opened doorway where she could easily see the blond man outside her bedroom.

She pulled a pillow over her head and groaned.

She then bolted out of bed and ran to the loo, proceeding to throw up all the contents that were supposed to help her forget.

**DMHG**

“Nice,” Draco voiced, eyeing Hermione as she shuffled into her kitchen, pouring herself a cuppa from the teapot Draco had already made.

She took a long gulp of the tea, watching the intruder from above the rim.

“About last night,” she started.

“Let’s just act like it never happened.” Draco interrupted.

Hermione liked that idea. She liked it very, very much. “Sounds good,” she said walking back towards her room.

“Where you going?” He asked.

“To get ready for the day. Why don’t you mind the shop while I’m doing that.” She said, shutting her door softly to get in the shower.

Not really wanting to be near her while she was naked - the images were too tempting, and he was supposed to act like the kiss did not happen! - he grabbed the plate of cream puffs and headed down the stairs.

It shouldn’t be that hard to mind a shop.

**DMHG**

How did she do this every single day? Draco was sweating, and a Malfoy should never sweat. He had a line going out the door while there were twenty different customers perusing the various flowers. There was a man saying he was there to deliver some Moly and Draco was fairly certain that the item required a level three clearance through the Ministry.

He was just about to shout at the man about how he absolutely did not want the item, or anything to do with him, when Hermione sauntered down the steps. She wandered over to him and told him to mind the till while she handled everything.

He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he sighed in relief. He watched as she easily helped patrons, pulling flowers and making bouquets and directing them towards him. They would tell him whatever she told them to pay and hand him the coins, and he would give them change when necessary or just put them in the little pockets in the register.

He was a Malfoy and he was working as a cashier.

He wanted to laugh out loud. He reminded himself that it was all his own mother’s fault. She was the one who drove him to Sherwood Florist in attempt to avoid her. Yes, that was the story, and he would stick to it.

“I didn’t believe it,” a customer drew him out of his thoughts, “I read it in the paper this morning but I thought it was just the usual gossip. But here you are, working the till in Granger’s shop!”

He looked up to the man not holding any flowers. “Theo, nice to see you,” he said through clenched teeth.

“So you and Granger?” he nudged while another customer handed Draco payment.

“Are nothing,” he replied, counting out change.

“Sure,” Theo mused, stepping around the counter to sit on the stairs and watch Draco work.

**DMHG**

Hermione took a deep breath. She hadn’t had a crowd like that since Yule. She wiped the sweat off her brow and went to say thanks to Draco - she had to call him that after all the help he gave her - when she stopped in her tracks.

Theo Nott, a boy who used to also make fun of her, was standing off to the side of Draco laughing.

 _I am a Gryffindor_ , she reminded herself and steeled her shoulders and walked forward with purpose.

“Thank you for the help, Draco,” if using his first name out loud threw him off, he didn’t let anyone know.

“No problems, Hermione.” She shuddered at him using her first name. Did he always purr like that?

“So,” Theo interrupted.

“Theo was just leaving,” Draco nodded in direction of the exit, not taking his eyes off of Hermione.

“I see, you want to get busy. Makes sense, she is fit. Well, Happy Valentine’s.” Theo pouted while waddling away.

“Wait,” Hermione urged as she spun around to look at him. “Didn’t you need some flowers?”

“Oh, right,” he mumbled, “I have a date with Parkinson.”

She put her hand out to stop him, “Say no more.” She _Accio_ some carnations and quickly created the bouquet. She added some buttercups, hydrangeas, lobelias, snapdragons, and hollyhocks. Somehow the plethora of colors created a rather stunning bouquet.

Draco snickered. He recognized the flowers and knew that they had pissed off every date he had given them to. He appreciated what Granger - _should he call her Hermione now? Even if it was only in his head?_ \- was doing for his friend. How he got roped into a date with Parkinson, he didn’t even want to guess.

Theo gave a forced smile and nodded a goodbye at Draco. When he stepped outside, the store was swept with silence.

Draco wasn’t really sure what to say or how he was supposed to act, so he simply turned around and went upstairs to the flat. He hoped there were more cream puffs.

**DMHG**

“So...” Hermione started, watching Draco mill about her kitchen. He was opening cabinets here and there, looking for something. “What are you looking for?” She finally asked.

“Cream puffs,” he replied, slamming another cabinet shut.

“I only have a few left. I think you ate them all.” She replied, pushing past him to the refrigerator. She pulled it open and grabbed the last bag of her cream puffs. She handed it to him and giggled when he ripped it open and began eating them. She turned red when he moaned in happiness and it does something to her that she wanted to ignore. “Why are you here?”

“Cream puffs,” he replied once more, focused on eating his favourite dessert.

She snatched the bag out of his hands and held it close. She swiftly brushed past him into her living room and made herself comfortable on her couch.

He trailed after her like a rabbit with its carrot. _How could she just take his cream puffs away?_

“Why are you here?” She asked once more.

He huffed as he sat next to her. Answer her questions to lull her into a false sense of security then filch the cream puffs and make a run for it.

“You ask me this now? After I’ve been here almost all day?” Answer her question with a question, a tactic his father taught him - one that Draco decided was worth remembering.

“Hmm,” she nodded, taking a cream puff from the bag and slowly putting it into her mouth.

Did she know what she was doing to him by doing that? He groaned. “Is it always that busy?”

“Only for holidays. I totally forgot that it was Valentine’s Day with being sick and all. I’m lucky you went and got me flowers yesterday or today would have been bad.” She rambled, taking another one of the precious few cream puffs and popping it into her mouth.

He grabbed the bag from her hands and jumped up, extending his arms above his head. He let a cream puff slide out and fall into his mouth. Hermione jumped up after him and stretched her arms up to get it back.

He kept the cream puffs out of her reach - _thank Merlin I’m tall_ \- and taunted her with the smirk on his face. He let another slide into his mouth and Hermione glared up at the blond.

Well, if he thought he could eat all her cream puffs, he had another thing coming!

Draco was surprised when she leaned in close, brushing his chin with her bushy hair. He took a deep breath and enjoyed smelling her, that is, until he felt her fingers dig into his ribs.

 _Was he always this tall? Did he always smell this good? Was his stomach always that hard?_ Hermione did **_not_** want to continue pondering things she really shouldn’t be and tickled him where she knew it would hurt.

He immediately dropped the bag and fell over clutching his sides, laughing. Hermione continued her assault, as it seemed far more fun than she thought. He fell to the floor, and she followed him, continually tickling him for a few minutes.

“Stop, stop,” he rasped, trying to breath through the laughs. He swatted at her hands and squirmed to try and break free.

Hermione just straddled him, clenching her thighs so that he couldn’t break free, and kept digging her fingers into his sides, going up and down his body, tickling.

When she started to slow down with her attack, their precarious position became an issue. Hermione blushed and quickly scrambled off him. Draco shifted and rolled onto his stomach to hide his reaction.

The bag of cream puffs wasn’t very far from him on the floor. He looked over his shoulder to make sure Hermione didn’t notice, she was busy looking anywhere but at him, and slowly stretched an arm towards the bag of treats.

Hermione tried very hard not to look at him. _First the kiss, and then that?_ The two of them really needed to talk about what was happening between them. She was getting very confused, and she never liked that. She glanced in his direction and saw him moving his arm. She looked at the direction it was going and eyed the cream puffs.

Quicker than Harry chasing the snitch, she jumped up, hopped over him, and grabbed the bag, pulling out the remaining four cream puffs and licking all of them.

“Was that really necessary?” Draco shouted as he also jumped up.

She giggled, nodded, and popped one in her mouth, all the while smirking.

Draco seethed, and vowed to get her back.


	8. Asphodel

**DMHG**

With all the cream puffs gone, the two of them stood in Hermione’s flat in an awkward silence.

Hermione wanted to talk about whatever it was going between them but wasn’t really sure how to press the issue without embarrassing herself.

Draco wanted her to make more cream puffs and was scheming how best to get her to do that.

“So,” Hermione started.

“So,” Draco repeated.

“This is awkward,” Hermione mumbled, bouncing back to the couch in attempt to clear the air.

“Yeah, so, how do you want to spend Valentine’s day?” Draco asked, sitting down on the couch with enough room between them. He knew being next to her, touching her, it wouldn’t bode well for anyone.

“About last night,” Hermione started again.

“It never happened,” he reminded. He really didn’t want to talk about the kiss that quite possibly could be considered his best kiss ever - definitely in the top three, that’s for sure.

“About just now, then,” Hermione tried again. They were going to talk about the tension between them, if she had to tie him to a chair to get it out of him. The image that came to her mind made her fidget in her seat, she shouldn’t be thinking such naughty thoughts at a time like this.

“I like cream puffs, if you haven’t noticed. You licked them. Now, you need to make more.” He insisted, ignoring the actual issue he knew she wanted to talk about. It was hard to ignore the sexual tension - he wasn’t naive enough to think there wasn’t any between them, after everything that happened the past two days, he knew better - if she kept wanting to go on about it.

Didn’t he like her because she didn’t yammer on like all the other girls? She was really killing some of her better facets.

And why was that a bad thing? Wasn’t he supposed to find her unattractive? Be repulsed by it?

“So, cream puffs, go make some more,” he blurted, trying to get rid of his puzzling thoughts.

“Now see here, I’m not just some House-elf you can order about. If you want cream puffs, you can make them yourself.” Hermione railed, shaking her fist at him for added measure.

“Well, how about we play a game?” Draco veered the subject. The passionate look in her eyes sparked something inside him, and he really needed her to curtail those actions if he was to get over whatever it was between them.

“A game?” Hermione asked. She knew she was supposed to be angry at him and go on a tirade of some sort but he always had a way of steering her thoughts off course.

“Yeah, let’s play a game. It’s Valentine’s Day, and I for sure don’t want to go home to my mother. I don’t see you getting ready for a date. So let’s play a game to pass the time.”

She didn’t like the fact that he threw out her lack of a date on the holiday of love in her face, but at the same time, she couldn’t do worse than spending the night with the good-looking bloke.

 _No one had to know they only played a game._ She could tell Luna and Ginny that she spent the evening with a very attractive, highly intelligent, passionate man.

They didn’t have to know that it was Draco Malfoy. Nor did they have to know that she really did think all those things about him.

“Sure, a game,” she affirmed. There must be a catch though, he was being fairly agreeable - very agreeable if you were considering he was a Malfoy - so he must want something. “What’s the catch?”

He scoffed, as if there would be a catch. He tried to plaster an innocent expression on his face, but she just looked at him in disbelief. _Salazar’s wand_ , he would never be able to get away with anything with the witch. “A wager. If I win, you bake me cream puffs for the next week.”

She giggled at that. He really liked cream puffs apparently. “And if I win?”

“I’ll work the till and run your errands in the morning for the week,” he replied without hesitation. He knew projecting confidence was always a good tactic. It wasn’t his fault that Hermione’s cream puffs were better than any the House-elves made at home. He bet she made them the Muggle way and that must’ve been why they tasted better. Magic just couldn’t make them as delicious.

“Okay, but I get to pick the game.”

“Fair enough,” he stuck his hand out over the expanse of empty couch.

She shook his hand, a gleeful smile on her face. Oh, this would be _fun._

**DMHG**

“What in Merlin’s name is Monopoly?” Draco asked, holding a box, a cartoon old man with a top hat in the middle of it, in front of him.

“A board game.” Hermione replied, taking the box from him and settling herself on the floor. She placed the box on the coffee table, opened it, and began setting up the game. She was excited to play, having not played in a while. She was even more excited to be one up on Draco Malfoy. Having him run her errands for a week seemed like it would be lots and lots of fun.

“When I said a game, I thought it would be Gobstones, or even chess, not Monopoly.” He said, settling himself on the opposite end of the coffee table.

Hermione handed him the game money. “Well, you said I could pick the game, and I want to play Monopoly.” She picked the dog, she never got to pick the dog when she played with her cousins, even though everyone knew how much she wanted to be the dog.

“Okay, well, explain away then,” he queried. He looked at the little silver pieces and selected the automobile. He placed it next to Hermione’s dog on the square marked ‘Go.’

And so Hermione explained to him the rules. He asked many questions, and Hermione was sure that she would beat him easily. A week with Draco Malfoy as a slave. She smiled at the thought.

**DMHG**

“Seriously?” She slammed her fists on the table. How did he manage to beat her? He never played before and somehow, he had all her money.

He smiled at her tantrum. He wasn’t ashamed to admit - at least to himself - that at first, he was a little worried about playing the game. But after she explained the rules, he knew he would win. Didn’t she know he was a Malfoy, and not only did Malfoys have naturally good looks, but acute business acumen.

“Cream puffs,” he smugly said as he started to put the pieces away.

Hermione pushed herself up off the ground and stomped into her kitchen.

“You can have them tomorrow!” she shouted, banging pots and pans, slamming cabinets open and shut.

He chuckled and peeked his head into her domain. He just barely missed being hit by an egg, shouting, “See you tomorrow,” before _Disapparating_ back home.

**DMHG**

He avoided his mother once more and arrived at Sherwood Florist just after seven. Hermione was just stepping back onto Diagon Alley when he caught up with her. He helped her with the wrapped flowers in her hands, and she trotted forward.

Once inside, he placed the flowers onto the counter and stuck his hands in his pockets. He whistled while pacing around the till.

“They’re upstairs,” she huffed, placing the papers Neville traded with her for Asphodel. She grabbed the flowers and began placing them into their proper bins.

Draco came down the stairs with a fresh plate of cream puffs. He knew he wasn’t going to stay very long. If he really was going to be eating the delicious pastry all week, he had to put in extra time staying fit. He had already arranged to play some Quidditch with Theo and Blaise in anticipation of the scrumptious morsels.

“What do those flowers mean?” he asked, stepping behind Hermione. She was handling the long white flowers that Neville had given her.

“Asphodel. As a Wizard, you only know of their roots as a potion ingredient. Most people don’t even know what the flower looks like.” She lectured, “They’re usually included in bouquets to symbolize regret.”

He nodded his head, not really sure why he cared about the symbolism of flowers, but excited nonetheless to see Hermione in lecture mode. Was it weird that he found that hot?

She continued to ramble, but Draco wasn’t listening. He just stared at her lips, her tongue darting out every now and then to moisten it.

He shook his head, he had to get out of there.

“Alright, Granger. Thanks,” he lifted the fresh batch of cream puffs. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She startled, confused about being called Granger. Before she could question him about it, he had already left.

She shrugged her shoulders. She knew her lectures could get boring, it wasn’t her fault she liked information. Oh well, his loss. She was determined to get all the grading done today and work on the crossword from yesterday and today. Luna had promised to make them a doozy.

**DMHG**

The next morning, Draco had returned to Sherwood Florist with a copy of _The Quibbler_ rolled up under his arm and a stem of Asphodel. Hermione eyed him from behind the counter as he walked up to her.

“I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly yesterday,” Draco said, placing his peace offering in front of her.

She simply nodded, trying to hold back her smile at the flower. She then leaned down and grabbed a plate from under the counter. Before she could even place it in front of Draco, he had swiped it from her hands and began to devour the cream puffs.

“Okay, I have to go play Quidditch again, otherwise all these cream puffs will go to my arse.” Draco quipped, leaving the shop fairly quickly, ignoring the stares from one of the customers.

He didn’t want to hear anything more about him and Hermione as a couple, and him keeping his distance would be the best way to get it out of the heads of all of Wizarding Britain.

Hermione sighed, thinking something along the same lines. She had to deal with _The Prophet_ article the day before. Ron and Harry had demanded answers and all she could say was that they were friends and she saved him from a bad date.

Her best friends were skeptical at best, but gave her the benefit of the doubt. They asked how they could possibly be friends and all Hermione had replied with was “cream puffs and Monopoly.”

Harry was surprised that the pair could bond over something Muggle, and because of that decided to let it be. He said that he supported Hermione one hundred percent. Ron eventually caved and said the same.

She said it wasn’t necessary since they were just friends. The two just shrugged, not really believing her.

Did she want them to be more than friends?

She wasn’t sure and she didn’t want to think about it so she decided the crossword would be a better use of her time.

**DMHG**

For the rest of the week, Draco would appear at the shop for his daily batch of cream puffs. Eventually the buzz around them died down. People unsure of what to make of the couple who they would only see exchanging brief pleasantries.

On the last day of the bet, Draco realised he was going to miss the cream puffs - and maybe, sort of, having an excuse to see Hermione - and asked her if she would like to play Monopoly once more.

She, also realising that today would be the last day of him visiting her, was quick to agree.

Both were still unsure about how they felt about the other, but they knew that they enjoyed having the other regularly being a part of their life.

Draco kicked her arse once more. Hermione had to make him cream puffs for the next week, again.

She acted like it upset her, but deep down, she liked the idea of having him come by every morning. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone - having just being able to admit it to herself - but having him stop by the shop made her days better. It was a part of her morning routine now, and she didn’t think she could live with it changing.

**DMHG**

This continued for months. Every Friday, the pair could be found sitting on Hermione’s floor playing a game of Monopoly with cream puff baking and slave driving on the line.

Once, she even managed to beat Draco.

He didn’t complain - she still made him cream puffs, and he was less afraid of Muggle London. On the first day, she actually took him through public transport and he had to ride a bus - a regular old Muggle bus - to the flower market. She explained to him Muggle money, and the shopkeeper who had helped him all those months ago - Sam was his name - smiled at the couple.

“It’s good to see you with someone, dearie,” he mentioned to them as they were leaving.

The two didn’t have the heart to correct him, secretly, deep down feeling the same.

**DMHG**

It slowly became a normal occurrence, the weekly game wasn’t for stakes any longer. Hermione made him cream puffs just because. Draco went and picked up the flowers for her before making it to Sherwood Florist each morning. He minded the till, while she helped the perusing customers.

The Wizarding World became used to it, and without any more outward signs of affection, wasn’t sure what to make of them.

The pair ignored the gossip though, and just continued to do as they were.

**DMHG**

At the end of April, their routine was shattered.

Narcissa Malfoy, having heard the gossip, and not particularly sure how she felt about it, nor how much she believed of it, made her way down to Diagon Alley to the only flower shop in Wizarding Britain.

When she stepped inside, she saw her son smiling, eating his favourite dessert, while helping a couple pick out some flowers. The proprietor of the shop was on the other side of the store arranging bouquets.

She strutted through the store towards her son, admiring the mixture of flowers around her. She waited for him to finish and only raised an eyebrow when he gasped in shock.

“Hello, Draco,” she began.

“Hello, mother,” he stuttered in response.

Before either could continue, Hermione had shouted across the store, “Draco, I have that bouquet done.”

“I’ll be right with you mother,” he turned back to the couple and lead them to the till. He wasn’t sure why his mother was at the shop, but he knew it couldn’t be for anything good.

Hermione saw how nervous Draco was behaving and tried to surmise why. When she caught sight of the regal blonde in the back of her store, she had to hold back from jumping in surprise. Instead she marched over to Draco and took over, whispering in his ear, “Go ahead and take her upstairs. I’ll finish up.”

He nodded his thanks to Hermione and asked his mother to follow him up the stairs. He hoped that the flat was clean. He didn’t need his mother to judge Hermione any further than she probably already was.

Draco caught sight of his mother’s sneer, and it made him immediately angry. “What are you doing here, mother?”

“I wanted to see if the rumours were true.” She cast a silent _Scourgify_ on the couch, perched on the edge as if magic was not enough to clean it. She looked around the room with her nose upturned.

“And what were they?” He asked, pacing in front of his mother. He didn’t know what to expect exactly, but he knew that he wasn’t going to like it.

“If you and her were dating."

“What are you talking about mother?” He sat down on the coffee table directly in front of her, not looking at her face but staring at her hand on her knee.

“Everyone seems to think you are dating. I figured that must be why you’re never around. You know, doing as we agreed. But if that’s not the case,” she said.

“We’re nothing. We’re not dating, have no intention of dating,” Draco rambled, finally looking up at his mother. Her sneer was gone. He thought she saw a sad smile appear on her face, but it was quickly replaced with an indifferent expression he questioned whether he actually saw it.

“Well then, if that’s the case. You’re birthday is coming up, and since you haven’t done anything about moving forward with your life. You’re still stuck. Instead of holing yourself up in your room, you’re doing that here,” she continued, “I demand you find a woman with intention to marry by your 23rd birthday.”

Draco was in shock, his mouth agape. He couldn’t say anything, couldn’t do anything, couldn’t say anything.

His mother stood up to leave, leaned forward and closed his mouth. “Why, hello, Miss Granger, I'm just leaving,” she chanted, before leaving the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter and then the epilogue. woohoo!
> 
> also, in case you were wondering:  
> Bouquet made of Hydrangeas and Lobelias: Your evil and frigid;  
> Bouquet made of Snapdragons and Hollyhocks: You use deception to get what you want;  
> Bouquet of Doom - Striped and Yellow Carnations: Sorry, I can’t be with you, Disdain and Rejection;  
> Buttercups: Childishness - but I’ve been using it because back in Medieval times, people would give them to a person thinking it’d cure insanity;  
> Peonies: shame;  
> Cactus: bravery and endurance.


	9. Purple Hyacinths

**DMHG**

“Granger,” he yelped, finally drawn out of his shock. He jumped up and faltered softly towards her. Hermione was there, she heard his mother speaking with him. How much did she hear? Draco knew he was starting to sweat, and he only hoped that Hermione didn’t notice.

“Back to Granger, I see. But of course, we’re nothing,” she snarled, shoving past him to lock herself in her bathroom.

Draco was shocked once more. He didn’t mean that. He didn’t mean for her to hear it, but that didn’t mean he meant it either. He jumped over the couch to follow her and tried to open the door.

It was locked. He was pulling his wand out when he heard Hermione shout from the other side, “If you unlock that door, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

He gulped. He knew that tone of voice. It usually preceded a slap to the face.

“Hermione,” he pleaded, realising calling her Granger earlier was a huge mistake. “We’re not nothing,” he tried to explain.

“Go away,” she cried. She was trying very hard to hold back tears. Sure, they were only friends, but she thought they were growing into something more. She wanted them to be something more. Yes, she could admit to that. And yes, she was going to admit to it on his birthday. She figured she had one more month to work up the courage.

But not anymore.

“Hermione,” he begged, letting his forehead rest on the door, lightly tapping against it.

She only shook her head, curling up into herself with her back to the door. Letting her tears fall silently. This is why she didn’t date, why she only worked in her shop. She had a routine. One that involved her waking up in the morning around 5.30, drinking tea, being ready by 6, getting fresh flowers at Columbia Road Flower Market, and stopping by the Leaky Cauldron to exchange graded papers for magical plants with Neville. A routine where she spent her mornings busy around the shop, afternoons grading or solving silly crosswords. Her nights were spent with her friends or reading books. And then the day would repeat itself.

Then Draco Malfoy decided to enter her life once more. They became comrades in arms against him finding a wife, and they had succeeded. Her whole routine changed with him being a major part of her life. Now, she was able to have a lie-in, baked cream puffs, and had help setting up the shop after Draco had done her morning errands. They would joke around while moseying around, have tea, and play Monopoly.

She liked that existence, but of course, it wasn’t meant to be.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” he whispered to the door and staggered out of the flat.

His life before Hermione was boring and plain. He hardly did anything. He slept in, he partied late, he hung out with friends, had plenty of one-offs. It was hardly an existence.

His mother had been right, he was letting the world pass him by. But then Hermione helped him with the wonderful Bouquet of Doom - and he helped her by coming up with an excellent marketing strategy to utilise the Bouquet, that he was also getting quite good at arranging, with all of his Pureblood friends avoiding one Pansy Parkinson. He enjoyed the laughing and joking they did throughout the day.

He really enjoyed that kiss they shared that one time, too.

He looked up the stairs one more time, not having heard the door opening, meaning Hermione was still locked inside. He glanced around the shop that had been his home for the past few months. He liked waking up each morning and minding the till. He enjoyed creating different arrangements and coming up with new things.

He liked spending his days with Hermione.

Now that was gone.

And it was all his mother’s fault.

The more he thought about it, the more angry he became. He stomped out of Sherwood Florist, and vowed to fix things.

**DMHG**

He _Apparated_ into his room and immediately _Accio_ his old school trunk. He began Summoning all his things and shrinking them to fit into the trunk. He would not stay at home any longer. His mother thought that she could boss him around and he was twenty-two for Salazar’s sake.

He finally had something that he looked forward to, and she had ruined it.

He shook his head, looked around his empty room once more and _Disapparated_ before his mother could know anything was wrong.

**DMHG**

Draco never thought he would feel grateful to Neville Longbottom, but at that moment, he could have kissed him - he would never, that was for sure, but the sentiment is what counted.

He had his trunk under the table that he had commandeered. He was on his fifth Firewhiskey, and he knew Hannah had made Neville approach him, but that didn’t matter. Draco figured drinking his sorrows away may give him some sort of idea how to fix things.

Leaving the Manor was step one. He didn’t think far ahead enough for step two.

“What’s wrong?” Neville asked, pulling a chair around and straddling it.

“Nothing,” Draco mumbled into his empty cup. He looked up to the bar and Hannah shook her head. He cursed, unhappy to be cut off, and lifted his glass in Longbottom’s direction.

“There’s clearly something wrong,” he continued, ignoring his request for more booze.

“Hermione is mad at me,” he whined, dropping his head onto the table. His head hurt, and he wasn’t sure if it was from all the alcohol or having his once happy life pulled from under his feet.

“What did you do?” Neville asked, sending the all but one empty glass back to his wife. He cast _Aguamenti_ into the remaining glass and pushed it into Draco’s head, urging him to drink.

Draco looked up, rested his chin on the table, and eyed the glass. He knew it was probably a good idea to drink the water, but he didn’t want to. Not yet. He deserved to be in pain. Hermione was crying in her bathroom, the least Draco could do was have a headache.

Neville nudged the glass once more, and leaned forward on his elbows, letting his cheek rest against one of his hands.

“My mother tried to get me to say that Hermione and I were dating. We’re not, at least not right now, and definitely not anytime soon. I told my mother we were nothing. Hermione overheard and now she won’t talk to me,” he rasped, before giving in and downing the water.

“And you’re here with your trunk of things because?” Neville yawned, as if the whole situation was of no consequence.

“Because my mother set me up!” He slammed his fist against the tabletop. “I like Hermione, okay. And I’m pretty sure she liked me. And anything that could have happened... gone, vanished, no more.” He had to take deep breaths. The conversation was just making him angry.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Neville again yawned. It was getting late, and if he didn’t care for Hermione, or start to like Draco over the past two months, he would have called it a night and went to bed with his wife. She was still at the bar cleaning up, the place having closed over a half hour ago.

“I don’t know. Apologize?” Draco pondered out loud. He really didn’t know what to do. He just knew he couldn’t stand to look at his mother and Hermione couldn’t stand to look at him. He let his head fall to the table once more with a big **THUD**.

A clink by his ear drew his attention and he looked up to see Neville leaving the table. “That’s the key to room six, stay the night and figure it out in the morning.”

Draco muttered a quiet thanks but didn’t get up from the table.

**DMHG**

Draco couldn’t remember the last time he woke up with such a hangover. It must’ve been months. At least since before Valentine’s Day. Granger did not like to drink too often and since he spent all his time with her, he didn’t drink that much either.

Oh how he missed the witch.

He would apologize to her today. He would fix things. He had to fix things. He didn’t know what the future held for the two of them, but he wanted to at least find out.

But first, he’d get a hangover potion. His head felt like a bludger hit it, and apologizing while groaning and in pain didn’t seem like a good idea.

So he cast a _Tempus_ spell and found out it was mid-morning. The Apothecary would be open and Hermione would be sequestered in her shop already. He wouldn’t have to see her until he was ready.

Which would be when he was sober. He vowed.

**DMHG**

The Apothecary was on the other side of her shop. The whole mission reminded him of the first time he ran errands for Hermione. He remembered having to hide in the shadows so that she wouldn’t realise he didn’t know how to go about in the Muggle world.

Well now he did, so there! He poked his tongue at Sherwood Florist, as if Hermione could see as he dodged into a dark corner across the way. He hid there and waited for an opportune moment to run by to get to the Apothecary.

He watched Harry Potter walk into the shop and the door shut. He took his chance and bolted for the other end of the alley.

**DMHG**

Hermione looked up to the door with bright eyes until she realised it was only her friend Harry. She let her head fall onto the counter once more and she sighed.

Maybe she should have let Draco talk to her yesterday. She was just so hurt by his words, and she didn’t want him to know he could make her cry. Why hadn’t he come by to apologize? To fix things? Maybe he didn’t mean it then, but because of how she reacted, he meant it now.

They were nothing.

A silent tear fell from her cheek.

“Hermione,” Harry said, patting her shoulder.

“Hi, Harry,” she mumbled into the counter.

“Want to talk about it?” He asked pulling a stool so that he sat next to her.

She shook her head. No, she didn’t want to talk about it. Talking about it made it real. She didn’t want it to be real.

“It might make it better,” he soothed.

“No it won’t,” she cried. She sat up and looked at her best friend. The caring look he gave her only made her more upset. She fell into him, hugged him close, and sobbed into his shoulder.

“There, there,” he rubbed her back, helping her calm down just a bit.

“He told his mum we were nothing and I heard him. I kicked him out before he could explain and now he’s gone. He’s gone!” she wailed.

“Maybe he’s trying to figure out how to apologize. I know I don’t like to come right back to you after getting you angry,” he assured.

“Maybe,” Hermione hiccuped. She hated the hiccups.

“Give him some time, who knows, maybe the ferret learned something from you.”

**DMHG**

Draco saw the ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the window for the Apothecary and it only took him a moment to apply for the job. He still had the hangover though - not wanting to buy the Potion right before interviewing. How would that look?

He passed the interview with flying colours. It helped having one of the best Potion Masters for a Godfather and having learned how to brew around the same time he learned to fly - which was four, by the way, and was the earliest his mother would let him do either activity. The woman was always ruining his fun.

What made the job even better was there was a flat behind the shop that was also for rent. Draco had never lived on his own. Always lived in the Manor and the only time he could consider having not lived there was the one weekend he slept at Hermione’s because they got caught up in a really, really long game of Monopoly - it was also the only one she ever won because Draco simply could not keep playing, but she didn’t need to know that.

So now he had his own flat, and a job. His mother couldn’t say he wasn’t doing anything for himself anymore! And it wasn’t like he was going to talk to her anyway. He was still quite angry with her.

Now, to work on the apology.

**DMHG**

Harry had left the shop with promises to check up on her again tomorrow. Hermione appreciated the effort, but she only wanted to see one person. And he hadn’t shown up all day. It was almost five, and they would normally be eating dinner together right now on her floor. She couldn’t bother to make herself dinner now. She was depressed. She sat on her living room floor, wrapped tightly in a blanket, the Monopoly box on the coffee table, and stared.

It had been one day, and she missed him.

A bell downstairs signaled a customer entering the shop. It was after hours and she wasn’t going to help anyone. “We’re closed,” she shouted, still staring blankly, losing track of time.

Purple blurred her vision and a sweet scent invaded her nostrils.

She blinked.

She blinked again.

It was a bouquet of purple hyacinths, primroses, and zinnias. A bouquet being held by a pale hand with long thin fingers. A pale hand with long thin fingers that she missed dearly. She turned around and saw the pale pointed ferret she had missed.

“I went to the flower market. Sam said these mean ‘I’m sorry’ and I really am.” He said, putting the bouquet into her lap. He walked around the table and placed a plastic bag filled with Chinese take out onto the coffee table - next to the Monopoly box.

She wanted to be mad at him. She really did. But he braved Muggle London for her once more, got her apology flowers, and food. She liked food. She liked flowers. She liked Malfoy.

“Okay, give me some orange chicken,” she smiled.

**DMHG**

After dinner, and discussing Draco’s new life, the two played a quick game of Monopoly where Draco did not let her win. He had other plans.

“Okay, I have one other thing for you,” Draco said, pulling Hermione up off the floor with him. He was happy that things worked out. He had the kick in the butt he needed and was out of the house. He lived on his own, had a job, and after tonight, a girlfriend, hopefully.

“Stand here,” he pulled Hermione so she stood behind the till.

She was confused as the shop was just its normal self. Nothing special, no fairy lights, no candles, no smells beyond the flowers - she wasn’t a crazy romantic, but she’d figure he’d try. She wanted to berate him from taking her away from upstairs but he quickly interrupted her.

“ _Accio_ white chrysanthemum, red roses, pink roses, white roses.” She watched as all the beautiful flowers flew into his hands. “ _Statuo Flores_ ,” he waved his wand and created a beautiful bouquet and placed it on the counter between them. “I’m not one hundred percent sure what this means, but I told Sam what I wanted it to say and he said this would do the trick.”

Hermione wasn’t going to let him goad her into saying it first. If he thought he could trick her, he had another thing coming. “Oh, and what did you want them to say?” she smirked.

His cheeks flushed. This was why he liked her, he couldn’t get away with things so easily. She kept him on his toes. “I love you, truthfully,” he whispered.

She smiled, happy to not be the first to say it. “I love you too,” she beamed, “and this will now be known as the ‘Bouquet of Love.’”

Draco raised his eyebrow at the name, then walked around the counter.

“What, okay, it’s not as awesome as the ‘Bouquet of Doom’ but really, what else can I call it?” She explained.

He just nodded his head, “You’re so cheesy,” and pulled her into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know the exact meaning, Hyacinths mean I am sorry. Primroses mean I cannot live without you. Zinnia means thoughts of absent friends. White chrysanthemum means truth. Red roses for love and desire, pink and white roses for ‘I love you still and always will’
> 
> Just an epilogue left!


	10. Epilogue - Bouquet of Love

**DMHG**

_~A little over a year later~_

“We can’t stay at either of the flats, you know,” Draco whined. He liked his flat, sure, he made some good memories there - like the first time he brought Hermione over. But he loved Hermione’s flat - the memories there, upstairs, just kept adding up. The fact that both were too small for their needs just made him unhappy.

“I know,” Hermione nodded, continuing with making flower arrangements, her swollen belly hardly noticeable. She had a few bins full of pink and red roses. There were also purple primroses scattered all over the floor of the shop.

“Hermione, this is your wedding. Not one of the society snobs who hire you out. You shouldn’t be making the flower arrangements.” Narcissa chided, pushing her aside and taking over with the spells.

“Thank you, Narcissa,” Hermione sighed, sitting herself down on a nearby chair. “We can just add onto the flat upstairs, you know.” She loved her flat, and she loved her shop. She couldn’t just give them up because she was having a child. “That way you’re close to work and I’ll be able to mind the baby and the till all at once.”

Narcissa gasped, but kept her mouth shut. She had only just gotten on the good side of her son - he finally realised that she had planned for this to happen all along, knowing he only needed that initial push. And now he was happy, and couldn’t complain. He still hadn’t thanked her for it, but she could wait.

“Hermione,” he groaned, not happy to have this conversation again.

“No, you love the shop just as much as I do. The flat upstairs means a lot to both of us. And I’m sure you can get the lot behind us for a good price. We can expand the flat. Make upstairs the rooms and just put the kitchen and a dining room behind the store. It’d be really nice, I’m sure,” she bargained. “I will not give up working for any amount of time beyond me laying at St. Mungo’s giving birth. I will take care of our baby and mind the till at the same time. And look at your mum,” she pointed at Narcissa who was casually trying not to appear to be listening, “She can help. She’s better at arranging flowers than you. And I know she’ll want to spend time with her grandchild,” Hermione insisted.

“Oh, that sounds like a wonderful idea!” Narcissa added, clapping her hands in excitement.

Draco glared at the two most important women in his life. He felt like he was being played here. His mother was a Slytherin and knew how to manipulate a situation - look at how he got here, for instance - and his soon-to-be-wife was more devious than an entire first year of Slytherins.

“Just give in, love, you’re not going to win,” Hermione smirked - his smirk- and blew him a kiss.

“Fine,” he rasped, turning to help his mother with the flower arrangements for their wedding that weekend.

**DMHG**

“If its a girl, how about Zinnia?” Draco asked, pulling Hermione in closer as they lay in bed.

“Hmm,” she rubbed her growing belly, “I don’t know, what if it’s a boy?”

“Scorpius,” Draco said with no hesitation, pulling a blanket over the two of them.

“That’s almost as bad as Zinnia,” she mused.

“It’s a constellation, like my name and a tradition for any Black males,” he whispered into her ear, placing his hand atop hers and following her movements.

“You’re not really a Black, you know. And our child will be a Half-blood, I don’t think Walburga will be too keen on us preserving Black family traditions,” Hermione teased.

“Can you imagine her face if she knew? We simply must, just so we can rub it in her face. The last generation of Blacks, both Half-bloods,” Draco cheered. “So Scorpius?” he waggled his eyebrows.

“I don’t know, how about just Rose, if its a girl? Ara Rose,” Hermione suggested.

“I like that. Ara is a constellation too, isn’t it?”

“Yup,” she yawned.

“Ara Rose for a girl. Would it be weird to name our son Scorpius Cactus?” Draco chuckled.

“Yes!” Hermione gasped, slapping his hand. “That’s terrible! Why would you suggest such a thing?”

“It means bravery and endurance, and I’m sure he’ll have that in spades. Just like his mother,” he muttered into her ear. He kissed the side of her neck and pulled her in even closer.

“Must it be Scorpius?” she rolled her eyes. “What about Eltanin Adonis?” Hermione rolled over so that she was facing her fiance. She squished herself into him so that she half laid on top of him.

“A star in Draco? I like that,” he agreed. “But what does Adonis symbolize?”

“Recollection of life’s pleasures,” she responded, yawning into his chest.

“Okay, I like that, good night love,” he kissed the top of her head and wrapped both arms around her, making himself comfortable. He rubbed her belly once more and muttered, “Good night Eltanin Adonis or Ara Rose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap. I hope you enjoyed the fic!


End file.
